Chapter 7 #2
The wedding was taking place on the property of one of Nate’s hotels in the Maldives.
He was the best man, and his wedding gift had been to arrange for a discounted block of rooms for the guests, friends and family.
I’d be at my brother’s wedding, standing beside the bride and groom with the man whose hands and mouth and tongue had been exploring me.
The man who was teaching me how to let go. How to give in. How to bend.
I was going to have to practice my poker face.
I waved my hand in front of it, like a fan.
Hell, just the thought of him was turning me on.
Grabbing my phone, I began to pull up his number to find out when our next lesson was.
But before I hit the call button, a neon sign flashed through my brain, blaring: You won’t have to think about a thing—just show up and enjoy.
I had to do the same with Nate.
Letting him lead this unconventional arrangement was part of my much-needed romantic transformation from intimidating to demure.
I set down my phone and focused on work, eagerly diving into my projects. Because here, in the office, overseeing this company I’d loved and founded, I was allowed to be my true self—to pick and choose, to decide, to direct.
Even so, as I stayed late, burning the midnight oil, I couldn’t deny that inside I was squirming, hoping he’d reach out soon. When I packed up to go, I stopped to consider the painting on the wall, a favorite of mine. I’d studied business in school, but had minored in art history.
I ran my fingertips lightly over the illustrated lips, then touched my own lips as I closed my eyes, remembering how Nate had kissed me.
Like a field course in kissing. The kind of kisses scientists would study for years in an attempt to dissect all the elements of a perfect kiss.
Sultry, possessive, as if he were claiming both sides of me—the side that wanted a tender, lingering touch and the side that wanted it rough and hard.
Nate
“He’s the perfect dog. The girls love him and he’s so obedient,” Kat said as she leashed up the Dachshund, who’d immediately burrowed into my sister’s arms when I dropped him off Saturday after the flight, and now, two days later, had clearly made himself at home with his new family.
“He’s a woman magnet already,” I quipped and Kat flashed me a smile as we walked down the steps of her brownstone on Park Avenue.
“I already picked a name for him,” she said as we reached the sidewalk.
“You didn’t let Chloe and Cara name him?”
My sister shot me a stern look. “They’re one, Nate. I’m not giving them naming rights to the first dog.”
“Fair enough. What’s his name?”
“Indiana Jones,” she said, as if it were an obvious choice. But then, it dawned on me what she’d done and why. “Because it was your favorite movie growing up. Remember we went to see it when you won the election for class president in eighth grade?”
I nodded, the memories flashing by of our childhood, summer days at the shore, dinners together every evening, movie nights to celebrate special occasions.
Our home had been happy, our parents had been in love and still were, and they’d worked together in a tourist shop they continued to run in our hometown of Mystic, Connecticut.
My mind flicked to Casey. Her parents had split the second she’d graduated high school, so eager to be divorced.
It was ironic that Casey and I had such opposite experiences, and each veered in the other direction.
Despite her unhappy parents, she hadn’t soured on love; she still had faith in it. Meanwhile, I believed in un-love.
Thanks to Joanna.
But it was only a handful of years ago I’d have bet this would be my life now—two kids, the happy home in the city.
I was drunk on love with Joanna then. The two of us spent late nights tangled up together in our Murray Hill apartment, drinking wine, playing slow, sexy music.
She’d even sculpted my hands once. She’d made a goddamn sculpture of them as a wedding gift to me.
“The only hands I ever want touching me,” she’d said, and it was so heady, those words falling from her red pouty lips that poured forth promises of being together forever.
We swore we’d be wrapped up in each other till the end of time.
Our marriage had lasted two intense, and seemingly beautiful, years. Then I was divorced at age twenty-eight.
Love was a drug; it played tricks on your brain, and the chemicals bathed you in lies as you fell, tempting you to believe in ludicrous notions like happily-ever-afters, and houses, and families.
I clenched my fists, shoving the memories away. I was happy, quite happy, thank you very much, in life post-Joanna. There was no need to linger on the past. I’d learned my lesson. I was glad, though, that my sister was happy.
And that she’d named the dog for me, so I could live the piece I did long for vicariously.
We talked more as we walked. The little brown-and-tan creature sniffed every stoop, every bush, every small tree on the handful of blocks between Kat’s home and Fifth Avenue where we caught up with Bryan, who’d gone for a jog in the park with the kids.
He was running down the block, pushing a double stroller.
I clapped my old friend on the back when he pulled up next to us, breathing hard. “Look at you. Dog, two kids, and the double-wide. Such the family man now. I’d give you a hard time if you were married to anyone but my sister,” I said, and Bryan rolled his eyes.
“Thanks, man. I appreciate the un-compliment.”
“Hey,” Kat said softly to Bryan, then pecked him on the cheek before she bent down to coo at her daughters. I joined in, because my nieces, Chloe and Cara, were obviously the cutest babies in the whole world.
“Why don’t you boys take Indiana Jones for a walk and I’ll get the girls fed,” Kat said, switching places. Bryan handed off the stroller, and she gave him the leash then turned around. “Bye, Nate. Don’t forget, if you get those tickets for the Comets game, I want in. I’ll get a sitter.”
I gave her my yes, since I’d been in touch with my contact who’d always snagged me box seats at the game. “Consider it done.”
“Um, excuse me,” Bryan said, holding up a hand. “I’d like to claim one of those tickets too.”
“We’ll see, buddy,” I said.
Kat shrugged playfully at her husband. “What can I say, Bryan? He likes me better than you.” She blew kisses in the air and walked off.
Bryan looked at the Dachshund, and shook his head. “I’m a man with a hot dog now. And my friend won’t even score Comets tickets for me.”
“Hey, that’s a quality weiner. Don’t put Indiana Jones in the middle of your mid-life crisis,” I joked, pointing to the pooch, who happily trotted toward the park.
“So what’s the latest with you?” Bryan said, wiping off the sweat on his brow with his T-shirt. “I trust you have stories to tell me of your trip to New Orleans? Regale me with your tales.”
I laughed, but didn’t plan on giving up any intel on the woman I’d spent the night with in the Big Easy. “Hardly.”
“Oh, c’mon. You falling down on that score?”
“Never,” I said, and my mind was right back to Casey, on the look on her face on the airplane the other day.
The way her eyes floated closed, how her breath hitched, how she bit down hard on my hand when she came.
I glanced at my palm, almost wishing there were imprints from her. Evidence of her passion.
My phone buzzed. I grabbed it in case it was an urgent work call. I needed to return to the office tonight anyway. The email was from Ethan, who I’d reached out to earlier in the day about grabbing a beer.
Beer is always good. I’m free tonight or tomorrow.
I gestured to the screen. “Ethan Holmes. I need to reconnect with him.”
But I needed to reconnect with Casey too. And I’d been mulling over the best way to take the next step with her. Even though I wasn’t wooing her or courting her, I wanted to rock her world with this sexual boot camp.
And that’s when I realized what was needed next. Supplies for our training.
“Hey, I gotta take off,” I said, and turned tail, texting Casey to let her know she’d need a new email address for me to use as her “teacher.”
“You should ask her out,” I said later that evening, gesturing to the very pretty bartender at Speakeasy, the bustling Midtown establishment where Ethan and I had knocked back a few beers and talked shop.
Ethan was high up at Victoria Hotels, and had peppered me with questions about angles to tackle the image issues his company faced.
The classy hotel was no longer cutting it on the gold-plated ambiance and needed to go younger, hipper, cooler, Ethan admitted.
I offered my advice where I could, glad that the two of us were back in touch.
We’d been work buddies at The Luxe, but hadn’t talked much once we both became candidates for the top job.
That had been a tense few weeks, vying for one spot.
When I had landed the coveted position after an exhaustive internal and external search, Ethan took me out for drinks, but it had been a strained night, and he’d clearly been in a bit of a funk for the next few months until he left.
I was glad that we’d both moved on now, and could chat again about work and women.
My friend peered at the woman behind the bar, pointing to a redhead with a round belly. He cocked his head to the side, looking at me as if I had grown horns. “The pregnant one? Pretty sure that belly means she’s taken.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Not Julia. The brunette who's been giving you the eye. Julia told me her name is Danya. She’s been taking on more hours, since Julia’s cutting back a bit in a few more months,” I said.
“You think I should just go right up to her and talk to her?”
“Yes. Just talk to her. See if there’s a vibe. Be respectful, but flirty. That’s what I’d do.”
Ethan scoffed and pushed a hand through his blond hair. “I’m sure a beautiful bartender at a classy establishment in Manhattan doesn’t get hit on very much at all.”
“You never know if someone is interested unless you try. The world is full of bro dudes, but we need more men who treat women with respect. Be that man. Now, I need to take off, so give it a shot,” I said, and Ethan shrugged, rose and walked over to Danya.
I wanted to pump my fist when I watched her shoot him a wide smile, after which they seemed to fall into conversation easily.
“Need another?”
I turned to Julia, shaking my head. “Nah. Closing time for me. I’ve got a laptop calling my name for the next few hours,” I said, then slapped down some bills to pay for the drinks, leaving a sizable tip for her.
I figured she deserved an extra twenty percent on top of everything else for managing a bar with a belly that big.
She scooped up the cash, and blew me a kiss. “Thanks for coming by. Don’t stay up too late working. I’ll tell Clay you said hi.”
“And let him know I’ll follow up soon about Brent and his clubs. I’ve got a trip to Vegas on the calendar, so I’ll meet him then.”
“Absolutely.”
As she moved to a new customer, my phone buzzed, and a kernel of excitement tore through me like a comet flaring across the night.
When Casey’s name popped up in my inbox, my cock twitched, hardening instantly.
Damn thing; her name already elicited a Pavlovian response in me. My cock saluted anytime she was near.
I tapped open the email, re-reading the note I’d sent her a few hours ago.
from: commandonate@
to: learnsnewtricksgirl@
subject: Tomorrow’s Lesson
At some point tomorrow I will stop by your office. I will have a gift for you. I will expect you to not be wearing any panties. Do not disobey me.
from: Casey
subject: Practicing Now
Removed. Ready. Waiting.
Those three words alone made me groan. But what was most intoxicating about her response was the attachment. She’d sent me a photo of her red lace panties on top of her desk.